I Can Connect Nothing With Nothing

What Have We Given? My Friend, Blood Shaking My Heart The Awful Daring Of A Moment's Surrender Which An Age Of Prudence Can Never Retract By This, And This Only, We Have Existed.

The Nightingales Are Singing Near The Convent Of The Sacred Heart, And Sang Within The Bloody Wood When Agamemnon Cried Aloud, And Let Their Liquid Siftings Fall To Stain The Stiff Dishonored Shroud.

Life Is Long Between The Desire And The Spasm.

Love Is Most Nearly Itself When Here And Now Cease To Matter.

As A Rule, With Me An Unfinished [idea] Is A Thing That Might As Well Be Rubbed Out. It's Better, If There's Something Good In It That I Might Make Use Of Elsewhere, To Leave It At The Back Of My Mind Than On Paper In A Drawer. If I Leave It In A Drawer It Remains The Same Thing But If It's In The Memory It Becomes Transformed Into Something Else.